


New Year's Resolutions

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, West Coast Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Darcy Lewis, Canon Typical Violence, M/M, but on the subject of canon - I do what I want, west coast avengers - Freeform, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 04:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18242258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: Sure, Bucky is down an arm and he's down a lot of hope and a lot of luck. But what's the worst that could happen if he goes to a New Year's Eve party with Darcy?





	New Year's Resolutions

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, this MAYBE might become a thing... might just be a one-shot. That's all up in the air and up to a certain someone, whose name will not be mentioned in case they want to escape and that is FINE. It's fine either way. Any way.
> 
> Special thanks to Ro for beta reading this.
> 
> And as always, CB, you evil evil fiend - encouraging me in all the things.
> 
> \--  
> \--  
> \--  
> \--

It was a little wild to think that, a year ago, Bucky had been in a hospital bed, drugged out of his mind, down a limb and most of his sanity.

 

And now?

 

Now, Bucky had a fancy PymTech robotic prosthetic arm, hadn’t experienced the bliss of opioid medication in seven months, and was still missing most of that sanity.

 

He was pretty sure that part of him - the part that had grown up in Brooklyn, had been a smirking, cocky asshole who was the best at anything he put his mind to, the part of him that roughhoused with his sisters and flirted with strangers who were definitely out of his league, and the part of him that could sleep through the night - that part of him had been left behind in a cave in Afghanistan.

 

Bucky missed it. Missed who he had been.

 

Some days, he missed it more than other days.

 

Today was one of those days.

 

_ Tonight _ was one of those days.

 

Union Station was holding a Prohibition-themed New Year’s Eve party, and Darcy Lewis, bless her wicked ways, had scored two free tickets for them. And while Bucky, a New Yorker through and through, had sneered that  _ no _ party in LA could match anything in NYC, he had agreed to be her date.

 

Theoretically, that was fine. 

 

Union Station was huge - it had tall, vaulted ceilings. It had multiple exits. It was bright. There was no way it would be  _ that _ crowded.

 

Theory was bullshit.

 

Because it  _ was _ that crowded. And it was  _ dark _ . And the sounds of the music and hundreds of conversations reverberated off the marble in a chaotic, deafening cacophony, and Bucky  _ hated _ it.

 

But Darcy, on his arm in her bright blue beaded flapper dress, had looked so happy to be here, to have  _ him _ here with her.

 

And Bucky… Bucky had grown up with three younger sisters, a father who had taken too long to drink himself to death, and a mother who had worked too many jobs trying to support all of them. Bucky couldn’t be the one to take that bright smile off her face.

 

Not when Darcy had put up with his shit for so long.

 

He still didn’t get it, their friendship, why she bothered with him.

 

They had met six years ago, when Bucky had been back stateside between deployments. It had been June, and Becca had finally come out to their parents, and she had dragged Bucky to Pride and, of course, there had been assholes. There were always assholes. And Darcy Lewis, bare-chested except for a pair of rainbow tassels, her dark hair covered in rainbow spray glitter, had launched herself at the assholes heckling some kids and, well… Becca had gone in after her, and Bucky had gone in after  _ her, _ and the three of them had spent the afternoon in a holding cell, and had gotten very close. Becca and Darcy had dated for a while, and Darcy had more or less adopted Bucky on sight. 

 

She had been the first one he saw, when he regained consciousness at Ramstein, because his family couldn’t afford to fly over and Darcy had money to burn, according to her, and she had been the first one to make a joke about him having to learn to jack off with his right hand now. 

 

She had seen him at his worst, and stayed by his side.

 

The least Bucky could do was suffer through three hours of too much noise, not enough light, too many people, and probably not enough alcohol.

 

“You want to get drunk?” Darcy had to actually shout in his ear to be heard over the music.

 

Bucky considered it.

 

Getting drunk could make all of this  _ so _ much worse. Or it could make it all seem very far away, very soft and very intangible.

 

Really, it could go either way.

 

He decided to roll the dice.

 

“Very,” he shouted back.

 

Darcy grinned at him, grabbed his hand, and danced her way through the crowd towards the bar.

 

The cocktails were, appropriately enough, Prohibition-themed, and after he and Darcy worked their way through four different drinks each, Bucky figured the party wasn’t really going to get  _ worse _ .

 

Bucky let Darcy pull him onto the dance floor, and between the alcohol and the familiar press of her body against his, things were actually almost  _ good _ .

 

Close enough to good, even, that Bucky found himself smirking at Darcy, found himself letting her spin away in another partner’s arms, and even found himself letting strangers touch him as he continued to dance.

 

This- this wasn’t actually bad.

 

It wasn’t bad at all, Bucky thought, as a dark-haired, well-built man in a very tight three-piece suit stepped up to Bucky and started to dance with him.

 

It was, all in all, a hell of a lot better than being in a hospital bed.

 

It was-

 

One of the massive windows above the band exploded, raining glass and- 

 

And robots.

 

Weird, skull-headed robots with bright green eyes and- 

 

_ Laser guns _ .

 

Bucky shoved the dark-haired guy to the ground and immediately spun around, looking for Darcy even as, all around him, hell broke loose.

 

People started screaming, alternately running and diving to the floor as a flood of robots came in through the open window.

 

The music was still playing - some song with such intense bass that Bucky thought his heart was going to vibrate right out of his ribcage - and the lights were still low, still flashing with color and-

 

There.

 

Darcy was maybe five yards away from him, crouched down and shielding another girl as one of the robots shot a man standing just over them.

 

The man fell down, a smoking hole in his groin, and the girl under Darcy screamed.

 

Bucky galvanized himself into motion, crossing the space between them and grabbing both Darcy and the girl and shoving them towards the- 

 

Fuck.

 

The robots were  _ everywhere _ .

 

People were  _ everywhere _ .

 

Bodies were  _ everywhere _ .

 

There was no clear exit. No safe place to take cover. 

 

The old ticket hall of the station was basically a shooting gallery for the robots.

 

“Get behind the band platform!” Bucky yelled at Darcy, pushing both women in that direction as he took in all of the shitty options.

 

Darcy let go of the woman, who took off running towards the platform, but Darcy didn’t move.

 

“Go!”

 

“Fuck you, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen freaky shit,” Darcy practically growled at him.

 

Which - he didn’t really have time to get into this with her.

 

A robot was advancing on them, and it was a good foot taller than Bucky, wider and, well,  _ entirely _ metal.

 

But at least  _ part _ of Bucky was also metal.

 

He launched himself at the robot’s shoulders, and Darcy slid into the thing’s legs in some kind of wild soccer tackle.

 

Together, they managed to wrestle it to the ground.

 

Darcy pried away the laser gun, and Bucky used his left arm to smash the thing’s skull head until the lights dimmed and then died.

 

By which point, Darcy was aiming the laser gun at another robot.

 

He watched as she shot it, watched the kick of the damn gun send her staggering back a few feet, but the robot went down.

 

“Hell yes! Take that!” Darcy aimed for another robot.

 

Bucky really, really wanted to drag her away from the middle of the floor. But, as she shot another robot, and as around them people were still falling, still screaming, still  _ not escaping _ , he realized that armed and fighting back was probably the best thing Darcy could be doing.

 

He leapt up from the disabled robot and scrambled for one of the ones Darcy shot. He grabbed the laser gun from it and started to fire was well.

 

It didn’t take long before the robots began to realize they were encountering resistance. Or - maybe it wasn’t the robots. Maybe it was whoever was controlling them?

 

Either way, Bucky and Darcy had only managed to take out three more and damage another five before the robots started to focus their attention on the two of them instead of the easy targets.

 

Bucky just barely avoided losing his new arm when two robots turned their guns on him, but he dodged their shots and Darcy took out one while he took out the other one.

 

They grinned at each other for a second.

 

But then one of the robots barreled towards Darcy, grabbing for the gun.

 

“Darcy!”

 

She reacted fast, but it wasn’t fast enough.

 

Mid-turn, Darcy managed to get off a shot, but not before the robot got close enough that, now incapacitated, it fell on her.

 

Bucky watched in horror as Darcy and the robot crumpled to the marble floor, the weight of the thing nearly flattening her.

 

He fired off shots at the other robots and hurdled over several downed machines, broken tables, huddled groups of people, and then skidded to a stop at her side.

 

“Darcy?”

 

“I’m here, under this  _ fatass _ !” 

 

She sounded panicked, but pissed.

 

Pissed was good.

 

Bucky had to nearly crawl under the robot beside her to shove it away, using his left shoulder as a wedge and trying to lift from that side as well.

 

He could hear and feel his arm recalibrating, struggling under the weight that was definitely more than it was engineered to support, and Bucky felt his muscles - hell, felt his  _ bones - _ protest and-

 

Finally, he managed to heave it up enough for Darcy to crawl out.

 

Bucky let it fall back down and looked at her.

 

She was bleeding, her right leg bent at an unnatural angle and clutching her side.

 

“Darcy?”

 

“Still… here. Why? You waiting for a better date?”

 

Her eyes were cloudy with pain, and her speech was slower as she put effort into forming each word. 

 

Not good.

 

Very, very not good.

 

Also not good was the fact that the robots were still coming through that damn window, still shooting at everyone, and Bucky- Bucky could pick up the gun or try to get Darcy to safety and leave them both exposed.

 

And, of course, there was still the matter of there being  _ no safety to get to _ .

 

Fuck.

 

Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ .

 

He picked up the gun.

 

Bucky had been a sniper in the Rangers. Bucky had spent nearly his entire damn career shooting things, and he’d never been in such a target-rich environment as this.

 

He had no idea what kind of ammunition he was working with, no idea if or when the laser gun thing would run out of… lasers?

 

But he was going to take out as many of the fuckers as he could before they got to him or Darcy, that was for damn sure.

 

Bucky had  _ not _ survived three months as a guest of the fucking Taliban to go out here, now, at a New Year’s Eve party in Los Angeles. Not while wearing suspenders and a goddamn bowtie.

 

A nearly blinding flash of light exploded in the room, and three robots went down all at once.

 

Bucky had no idea what had just happened, or where or  _ how _ the flash of light had happened.

 

And then, suddenly, there was a  _ flying _ woman in black leggings and a patriotic crop top punching a robot in the face and making it explode.

 

And then there were  _ arrows _ . Actual ‘bow and arrow’ arrows, flying across the room and hitting one, two, three, four - six robots in quick succession. Some kind of electric arc passed between the arrows, and all six robots fell to the ground.

 

Bucky kept firing the laser gun.

 

Because flying women and electric arrows were great, but robots were  _ still _ coming through that damn window, and he still had nowhere to take Darcy and-

 

A guy with a pink mohawk floated to the ground near Bucky.

 

And, suddenly, Bucky felt the urge to put down his gun, felt the urge to calmly walk towards the back of the hall and- 

 

“Quit fucking with my head!” he snarled at the pink-haired guy.

 

The guy seemed momentarily startled, looking from Bucky’s gun to his sneer to the robots advancing on them.

 

But then the pressure eased from Bucky’s head and the guy turned his attention, presumably, towards the still-panicking civilians behind them.

 

The flying woman was still attacking robots, and so was whoever was shooting the arrows.

 

And then a lean black dude with a shaved head came out of literally nowhere and picked up one of the fallen robots like it weighed  _ nothing, _ and threw it at another robot.

 

“Who the fuck  _ are _ you people?” Bucky muttered, more to himself than anything.

 

Somehow, the pink-haired mohawk dude heard him over everything.

 

“We’re the West Coast Avengers!” he called out to Bucky, a twisted grin on his face.

 

“Who?” Bucky had never heard of the West Coast Avengers.

 

He’d heard of the  _ Avengers _ , of course, but - what? Now there was a  _ West Coast _ team?

 

A flash of purple and black flailed across Bucky’s line of sight, momentarily distracting him from lining up his next shot.

 

It was a man, with messy blond hair, wielding a fucking bow and arrow. The guy rolled to his feet, drawing an arrow as he did, and shot it at the nearest robot.

 

“It’s Doctor Doom!” the blond-haired guy shouted at the pink-haired guy.

 

“No shit! Who else uses Doom Bots?” the pink-haired guy shouted back.

 

“Look - whatever. Gwen is tracking down the server controlling them. Fuse-”

 

“Yeah,” the black dude shouted over his shoulder, “I’ll help her out!”

 

And all of a sudden, Bucky found himself caught by the blond-haired man’s sharp blue gaze.

 

“Who the fuck are you?” the guy shouted.

 

Bucky shot another robot.

 

“A guy who doesn’t want to fucking die in a bow tie.”

 

The blond-haired guy shot an arrow at a robot, not even taking his gaze away from Bucky. Remarkably, the arrow hit a robot right in the head.

 

“At least you look hot in a bow tie,” the guy said as he advanced towards Bucky.

 

Bucky shot another robot, and then gave the guy an incredulous look.

 

The guy grinned at him.

 

“I’m Hawkeye, by the way,” the guy said, and, still  _ not fucking looking _ , shot another robot.

 

Bucky knew who Hawkeye was.

 

Jesus fuck, did he ever know who Hawkeye was.

 

Now that the Avenger was standing  _ beside _ him, shooting robots and  _ flirting _ with Bucky, it was pretty difficult to ignore how fucking attractive he was.

 

“Oh my God, Clint!”

 

The blond-haired guy finally looked away from Bucky.

 

“Darcy?”

 

Bucky shot another robot, and then glanced down to see Clint pulling a field dressing out of a pocket in his black tac pants and wrapping it around her leg.

 

“What are you doing in LA?” the blond-haired guy - Clint -  _ Hawkeye _ asked her.

 

“I’m in law school at UCLA!”

 

“No shit! Hey, who’s the hot guy murdering robots?”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes.

 

And continued to shoot robots.

 

“My best friend - Bucky Barnes. You want his number?”

 

“Darcy!” Bucky snapped. “Stop talking! You probably have broken ribs.”

 

Clint snorted and stood back up.

 

“Broken ribs never stop  _ me _ from talking,” Clint said.

 

“Are you fucking flirting with me while  _ robots are attacking us _ ?” Bucky demanded.

 

Clint grinned at him.

 

And - okay. It was a nice grin.

 

Lots of sparkly teeth and everything.

 

But-

 

Bucky tackled Clint to the ground just as a robot shot the ground where they had been standing.

 

“You know, normally I save this kind of thing for the second date,” Clint said.

 

Clint, who was currently pinned under Bucky.

 

“I’m not going on a date with you,” Bucky growled, and climbed off him.

 

They stood up, and once again, started shooting robots together. And, once again, more of Clint’s attention was on Bucky than the actual  _ robots _ .

 

“Why not?” Clint asked. “I’m awesome at dating.”

 

Somehow, Bucky seriously doubted that, and it must have shown on his face.

 

“Okay, I’m not  _ awesome _ ,” Clint corrected himself. “But I  _ try _ not to fuck dating up.”

 

It was both a totally pathetic and oddly sweet thing to say.

 

It also resonated with Bucky on a personal level he didn’t even want to begin to acknowledge.

 

Suddenly, an electronic clock chime sounded, and on the wall above the band platform, a countdown clock to midnight appeared.

 

They had thirty seconds left.

 

Bucky was shocked into a laugh.

 

Clint grinned at him and made a stupidly cool-looking shot.

 

“You know what they say,” Clint took down another robot, “nothing guarantees good luck like starting the new year fighting robots and giving Hawkeye your number.”

 

Bucky snorted.

 

The guy was funny. Kind of charming, too.

 

Fifteen seconds left.

 

Bucky shot three robots in rapid succession, and Clint shot one that was somewhere behind Bucky.

 

Ten seconds left.

 

Clint grinned at him.

 

Bucky scowled and shot a robot that was lining up a shot at them.

 

Five seconds left.

 

Clint stepped close to Bucky, took out another robot, and then turned his blue gaze on Bucky again.

 

Three.

 

Two.

 

One.

 

Clint leaned in close and pressed his lips to Bucky’s in a barely-there kiss.

 

“Happy New Year!”

 

And then Clint sprinted away from him, shouting at the flying woman as he ran.

 

Bucky was left momentarily stunned, but he pulled himself together and shot another robot.

 

And another, and another.

 

Until, finally, there were no more robots to shoot.

  
  


-o-

 

Three weeks later, aside from the black cast on Darcy’s right leg, neither of them had much in the way of reminders of how they had spent their New Year’s Eve.

 

The spring semester at CalTech had started the previous week, so Bucky was already drowning in homework and lab work. That, plus Darcy’s leg, meant that he wasn’t going out much. Not that he ever really did. It also meant that he wasn’t sleeping much. But, again, he never really did.

 

Which was partly why he had become a Lyft driver in the first place.

 

The GI Bill covered a  _ lot _ of his expenses for college, but not all of them, and Bucky wasn’t going to let himself drown in debt if he could prevent it.

 

That he could pick up a driving shift whenever he wanted to worked well, because Bucky’s sleep schedule was fucked, and his class schedule was insane.

 

It was almost comforting to pull up in front of a bar at two in the morning and have three drunk girls pile into his backseat and giggle when he reminded them to put on their seatbelts.

 

But then one of the girls lurched forwards suddenly, until her face was almost mashed against the center console, and stared up at him with wide eyes.

 

“Oh em gee. You’re Hawkeye’s boyfriend!”

 

Bucky almost ran a stop sign.

 

“ _ What _ ?”

 

The girl dragged one of her friends forward, and suddenly two drunk girls were staring at him.

 

“It  _ is _ Hawkeye’s boyfriend! Holy fuck, Maggie! Maggie! Don’t throw up! We’re in Hawkeye’s boyfriend’s car! Oh, oh shit. Hey, hey, driver guy? She’s going to puke.”

 

Bucky managed to pull over and help Maggie out of the car just in time.

 

One of the girls held back her hair as she retched into the grass.

 

The other girl stood beside Bucky and stared at him.

 

“I’m not Hawkeye’s boyfriend,” Bucky sighed. 

 

Had those girls been at Union Station that night?

 

How, in all the chaos, had they seen Hawkeye kiss him?

 

“Sure looks like you are…” 

 

Bucky scowled at her.

 

“What?”

 

She pulled out her phone, tapped at it, and then held it up in front of him.

 

It was open on YouTube, and below the loading screen was the name of the video clip.

 

_ West Coast Avengers Trailer _

 

What the fuck?

 

Hesitantly, Bucky clicked on the play button.

 

There was a theme song.

 

There was- there was the flying woman.

 

And the pink-haired guy.

 

And the black dude.

 

And some girl in a latex suit?

 

And another woman with dark hair and a bow and arrow.

 

And- and there was Hawkeye.

 

And there - Jesus Fucking  _ Christ _ . There was footage of Hawkeye kissing Bucky, and the two of them shooting robots together while Hawkeye smirked at him.

 

“What the fuck is this?” Bucky demanded.

 

“It’s the trailer for their new reality show. The West Coast Avengers. Apparently, they’re kinda broke? I guess Tony Stark isn’t financing it? I don’t know. Anyway, they’re producing their own show to raise money. The trailer just came out today. So, what’s Hawkeye like in bed?”

 

Bucky groaned and covered his hands with his eyes.

 

He was actually shocked that Darcy hadn’t seen the trailer already.

 

Shocked she hadn’t-

 

In his pocket, his phone vibrated.

 

Yep. 

 

This was his life.

 

-o-

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
